“Bottom?” cried the Colonel.
“No, father; he must have let it catch on some ledge or piece that stuck out. Look, the lead’s going steadily on. He said forty-nine: I’ve counted fifty, and there it goes—fifty-one—fifty-two,” and to the surprise of all, the line ran out till another twenty fathoms had passed off the reel.
“Seventy fathoms, father. That’s bottom,” said Gwyn, hauling up and letting the line run again with the same result.
“Hah, yes,” said the Colonel; “and that means so many thousand gallons more water to be pumped out. But try again. Jerk the lead, and let it shoot down. Perhaps you have not quite sounded the bottom yet.”
Gwyn obeyed, and the result was again the same.
“Seventy fathoms. Well, that is not deep compared to some of the mines; but it proves that there must have been profitable work going on for the people, whoever they were, to have gone on cutting through the hard stone. A tremendous task, Jollivet.”
“Hang it, yes, I suppose so. Well, there is nothing more to be done or seen, is there?”
“Not at present. Only to reel up the line our visitor has been so obliging as to lend us.”
“Wind away, Joe,” cried Gwyn; “and I’ll let the string pass through my fingers, so as to wring off some of the water.”
The boys began to gather in the sounding-cord, and the Major stood peering down over the wall into the black depths and poking at a loose stone on the top of the wall with his cane.